here boy! fetch. good boy...

 


this talk of
love

so pedestrian
and alien all at
once

tasting of cobra
venom
and scented with
lavender

undecipherable
like small fragments
of dead sea scrolls

beyond the touch
of any
grace

like well trained
mutts from God's
obedience school

and like a sickness
in the history
of our
bones

we fetch after that damn
love stick each time
it's thrown

no matter how many
times we've gone
over that self
serving cliff
chasing
after
it